Hat Trick
by Missy Jade
Summary: [PreRayne] The first time his hat goes missing, he’s sure it’s his imagination, since he wakes up the next morning to see it lying near Vera... [Fluff, with a sprinkling of angst]
1. Balancing Act

_Hat Trick  
Rating: PG-13  
Teaser: The first time his hat goes missing, he's sure it's his imagination, since he wakes up the next morning to see it lying near Vera.  
Notes: A semi-fluffy Rayne tale with a side of angst and a heavy dose of hat love! Posted because I am the biggest feedback whore of all time, yep... also, because fluff is sometimes needed, me thinks._

-

**Balancing Act**

-

The first time his hat goes missing, he's sure it's his imagination, since he wakes up the next morning to see it lying near Vera.

The second time, he knows it's not his imagination and after two hours going through his bunk, he begins his search through Serenity with a scowl and Sarah at hand, hoping that the doc had taken it so he could shoot him and have an excuse to do it. Of course, it would probably turn out to be Kaylee who had taken it, using it to twist a screw or something along those lines.

Damn if he was going to shoot Kaylee, though….

An hour into his search, he's turning up nothing and he's beginning to twitch slightly in his murderous fury, eyes peeled for any hint of his Ma's gift as he goes from place to place. He's already cornered Doc in the infirmary, poked at him with Sarah and made ingenious threats until the young man snapped and told Jayne to go jump out of the airlock.

Okay, fine, it wasn't the Doc— he didn't have enough spine to sneak into his bunk and— wait….

He stumbled in his angry stride, his own spine stiffening as he resisted the urge to smack himself for his stupidity.

Only one person could come crawling into his place in the dead of night and steal his hat without disturbing him or his girls, light sleeper that he was. Scowling automatically at the unhappy realization of how easy it would have been for her to slice him up for good this time, he spun on his heel and made for the catwalks, searching for any flash of brown hair or flowery dresses.

It's only the fact that he's in Serenity that keeps him from firing--which is odd enough, considering people had as big a habit of getting into the ship as Mal does at getting shot--when he feels something like a bare foot poking him in the back of the neck. Still, he spins, releasing the safety and shoving Sarah in her direction, meeting unerringly intelligent brown eyes with a hard stare of his own. "Give me it back, and I won't blow your head off."

A few moments of silence as she continues to stand on the railing before, with a loopy smile, she clamps her hands to her skull and shakes her head, brown hair lifting in a dark halo around her form. He notices with an inward cringe that her dress matches the hat, a wispy thing of reds and oranges and, before he can stop her, she raises one leg again, ball of her foot pressing against his forehead. "I am surrounded with love," she states calmly, and he knows she's laughing at him. Her voice is pleasantly patient, but he knows she's laughing at him.

"Give me the hat," he snaps, and cocks Sarah, trying to intimidate her.

He's aware of how awkward their stance is, and how easy it would be for her to tip backwards and fall and break her itty-bitty neck on the floor far below them and it only makes him more uneasy, since she isn't the least bit afraid and any sane woman— girl in that position would be scared out of her girly wits.

Of course, she isn't sane, so he doesn't know what the problem is.

"Get your foot off my face," he adds, and she grins, and he automatically shifts his gaze to her hands, breathing a silent sigh of relief to find no cans of fruit ready to bash his skull in. That's the same grin she had before, and its there now, somehow growing wider as he shifts his gaze from soft-looking hands to eyes lit up with amusement.

She'd grinned at him like that as she'd dropped on him, knocking the gun out of his hands and bringing the peaches down with unerring accuracy. Now, she beams, nodding as she flexes her toes against his face, and the way she's standing shouldn't, technically, be possible but then it shouldn't be possible for him to get knocked out by an itty-bitty thing armed only with peaches.

"The center of my gravity is easy to control," she whispers conspiratorially, and he lifts one eyebrow, not quite sure what to make of that comment as his stomach does interesting things. He raises his eyes to where her foot rests against his forehead, studying it with something that feels suspiciously like interest and she grins again, nodding more happily. "You're ability to learn is more than Simon thinks it is," she states, and her smile is so brilliant that he almost doesn't mind the fact that she's just said something about his brainpan.

"I didn't see you," he states awkwardly, Sarah still pointing at her but he's unwilling to point it anywhere else because, yes, this is the same crazy who liked him better in red if he remembered correctly. Resisting the urge to squirm as she tips back and then forward again, he instead clenches his jaw and watches as she tilts her head, pointing up with one finger and he risks a quick glance up, knowing that if she tried anything he could just push her ankle and send her flying down.

Above them is an open grate and he rolls his eyes, glancing back at her and noticing the hat again, a welcome reminder of why he has Sarah out in the first place and pointing it at her. "Give it over," he blurts out, relieved to have his anger back, using it brush off his confusion and the fact that she has her foot against his forehead.

"I am surrounded by love—"

"Stop that," he snaps, and her brows contract, eyes narrowing as she studies him and he again finds himself wanting to squirm. Her mouth curves down for a heartbeat and her eyes darken, and she stares at him as if he's done something she doesn't approve of, which doesn't help his mood any.

"If I have to say it again—"

"My mother never surrounded me in love."

And, just like that, he's knocked off balance again, which is not a welcome feeling despite the fact that he's the one with his feet flat and she's the one balancing on the railing. "What are you talking about?" he asked roughly, and she shrugs, a little move of delicate-looking shoulders and small hands that he knew could break him in two.

"This," she murmurs, raising a hand to caress the knitted object on her head, too big for her and falling low around her skull and he winces, tightening his hold on Sarah unconsciously. "She did her dances and sang her songs and stared at me with empty in her eyes," she adds, nodding, and he winces again, helplessly.

"Not your fault," she sighs softly, and drops her raised foot to the railing, flexing her ankles and rolling her shoulders and he echoes her movement without thought, lowering Sarah and flicking on the safety in one movement, wishing she would just hand him his hat and he could head back to his bunk, where he wouldn't have to start thinking of her in terms of anything other than a crazy girl.

He takes a step towards her when she sways forward, hand automatically snapping towards her, but she simply places a palm on his forehead and steps down, bare feet pressing lightly against the grating as she reaches up and pulls the hat from her skull, fingering it with a look of unhidden longing before she finally held it out, staring down at her feet. "Your mother's dances are clumsy but her center of gravity is sure," she finally sighs, and he gives her a sharp look, irritated that he wasn't irritated at her anymore.

"Go play with your brother," he finally snaps, cramming his hat onto his head and turning away, stomping quickly away from her, making it halfway down the stairs before he notices Mal staring at him oddly, as if he were the one balancing on the railing preciously just minutes before and not the crazy.

It doesn't help anything that's left of his sanity, and he grinds his teeth harder.

"Better have the Doc give her something extra strong tonight," he mutters in the Captain's vague direction, and heads quickly for his bunk, keeping a tight hold to Sarah, a steady weight in his hand that he can control. She's not Vera, but she's a beauty, and he strokes his fingers absently across polished metal, resisting the urge to glance back.

Crazy.


	2. Stealth

**Stealth**

-

Like the doctors said with such pride, River Tam is a creature of extraordinary grace.

And as dangerous as Jayne Cobb is, he's deadly and he's always been deadly and he'll be deadly till the day he dies and she knows that in her head with the grace that she had even before they made her less than what she was, he's dangerous in a blunt way, broken bones and shattered skulls and he has yet to learn how to kill with a spoon.

Although, and she holds no doubt about this, he'd find it easy enough to do if she ever decided to teach him that particular skill.

He's a light sleeper, had been born that way, and it's a test even for her to slip into the bunk without waking him, barely moving as she slips through shadows, mind already latching onto the feel of what's waiting for her, something that reminds her faintly of Simon, before he began to drown in his guilt over the loss of the sister the Academy killed.

There are other things that feel like the things that are sent by Ma Cobb—the ship when Kaylee speaks to her in the middle of the night, expressing her desire for the drowning doctor; the dinosaurs that decorate Wash's star-lit home, and no one knows that Zoë named one just a few weeks after Wash came aboard, that she spent that whole night watching him with inward pleasure while he played, trembling inside because the Valley had chased her out of her sleep.

The shuttle that Mal stares at for long minutes on end in the middle of the night, pretending he doesn't care while already broken edges crumble more.

But these are things that she can touch, steal from his bunk and wrap herself in, and they offer more warmth than simple objects can. She knows Ma Cobb now more than she ever knew her own mother, knows how the elderly woman sounds while humming in the morning and knows the feel of her hands when checking for a high fever in the night and knows that she can shoot straighter than most men can when you push her to her breaking point.

River knows that she's the person who taught Jayne to use a gun, because someone who can't defend themselves on the Rim is a dead someone and if there's one thing Rosanna Cobb can't bear the thought of, it's burying any of her children but especially not her only boy, big and blue-eyed and harsh around the edges in a beautiful way just like his pa had been.

Rosanna Cobb doesn't like to think too much about how often she's sure her boy gets hurt, even if he goes out of his way not to let her know.

There are blankets and scarves, remnants of harsh winters that Jayne had somehow managed to thrive in, but it's the hats that fascinate River because, beyond being useful and filled with what she craves, they truly are very pretty to look at and pet when no one's watching, stroking small but deadly fingers across soft material.

Jayne is a girls' name, and Jayne wears pretty hats, but he is most definitely male.

Quite an enigma, she must admit.

She pauses twice before making it the bed and then pauses again, knowing that he's awake even though he hasn't moved, even though his breathing hasn't changed and his muscles haven't tightened. There's a knife under his pillow and she lifts one eyebrow, deciding with a nod that if he makes contact with it, she'll let him before she breaks his wrist.

She makes a noise with the next step, letting her dress whisper with an acknowledgement that she knows he's awake as she moves around the bed where his massive form is splayed out, eyes focused on the object tucked between his body and Vera, stilling as she stared down at the three, mercenary and beautiful gun and the hat filled with something she needs more than anything else.

"Don't do nothin' stupid, Crazy."

"Unstable females cannot be held accountable for their actions."

"I'll tell Mal that you've been sneaking into the big, bad merc's bunk in the middle of the night," he snaps back, but she simply grins slightly because they both know who Mal will blame this particular fact on. She tilts her head, ponders for a moment before— "What a big growl you have, big and bad mercenary."

"You got a gorramn death-wish, don't you?"

"I did in the Academy, but not in the Black," she states back, and though he doesn't move, he shifts in her head awkwardly, what he knew and what he doesn't want to know clashing horribly in his mind and if his face wasn't hidden in the pillow, she'd be able to catch the way he frowns at the feel of sympathy for her.

Sympathy, but not pity; pity hurts, slicing at her edges until she's left shaking beneath the silent assault of it.

"This is weird, don't you get that?"

"The girl has always been weird, even before she went to the Academy," she sighs, eyes still on the object she wants so badly, knowing better than to move for it, knowing that the conversation that's happening is important in the way that gravity is, if only on a different level. "High intelligence made her socially unacceptable to socially acceptable parents."

"Stop that!"

"You do not wish to know the girl's history?" She knows the answer already, and doesn't blame him; he likes things simple, and goes out of his way to make the 'verse work that way, not because he's weak or stupid but because people who think too much catch the bullets too easy. It's hard, to think of any person handing their child over to a place like that, and while he knows damn-well that people are capable of it, it's still hard to be forced to see the results walk around day and day.

She doesn't move when he rolls onto his back, tapping his stomach with the flat of the blade, and even in the dim light, they stare at one another easily, blue eyes meeting brown with more intelligence than he lets others onto. It's impossible to make her underestimate him, though, so he rarely tries these days. "It's my hat, it ain't yours."

"But I need it."

"Why?"

"Because—"

"That ain't an answer, Crazy."

"You did not allow me to finish my response," she snaps, and he snorts, flicking the point of the knife in her direction in a slight invitation to go on. "I need the hat because it is small and easy to carry; the blankets are less than practical to carry around, and the scarves can be used too easily to injure me in a fight."

"You been going through my cloths?!"

Her lips twitch but she doesn't break eye contact as his eyes narrow and he sits up a bit more, resting his weight on one elbow as he points the knife at her, almost wordless with fury. "If I find out about any crazy _go se_ you've been doing with 'em, you're a dead Crazy, you got that?!"

"My forays into your cloths are honorable."

He just gives her a look, making her lips twitch again, and he's gone back to tapping the knife against his stomach again, staring at her harder than most of the crew lets themselves. She's vaguely proud of the mark she knows decorates his chest, although she dislikes the reasons behind her pride, and she watches the blade for a moment thoughtfully, knowing the scar better than any wound she's ever dealt anyone else. "You can't be coming into my bunk in the middle of the night, Mal's already cranky enough as it is, you know that."

"But I need—"

"What's your favorite color?"

She pauses, stills, confused for a moment at how sudden he comes to some decision and as much as she tries to skim across his mind, see what it is, she can't, he's locked down tighter than anyone or anything else in the ship, wearing a dark look and a strange frown. "I do not see what that has to do with our conversation."

"If you're as smart as you say you are, you'll answer the gorramn question. Now, little crazy person, what's your favorite color?"

"Blue."

He gives a grunt, short and simple, and with a quick flick of his wrist, he grabs the hat at his side and tosses it at her, looking semi-pleased when she caught it without letting it hit the floor. "Put it on, and get the hell out of my bunk." He rolls over again, sliding the knife under his pillow and his arms under his head, adding more darkly, "And if anything happens to it, you're gonna wish your brother never brought you on this boat, got it?"

It takes her a moment of silent consideration before she grins suddenly, deciding that he's simply taken sympathy on her and cramming the hat down on her head, caressing it tenderly with her fingertips as she adjusts her hair, breathing slowly and steadily at the warmth it spreads through her. "I understand your orders, big, bad mercenary."

"And don't call me that," he growls childishly as she flees his bunk, pleased beyond words at the sense of safety the echoes of Ma Cobb wrapped her in.


	3. Death By Spoon

**Death By Spoon**

- 

River rarely feels the desire to go off-ship when she doesn't need to, prefers to stay where Blue Hands cannot reach unless they come through her nightmares but this time she's sure of herself and when the captain's back is turned, she slips out of the ship, the hat on her head clashing violently with her night-colored dress, one of the last things Inara had brought her before being driven off by Mal's battle scars, rotting him from the inside out because he can't bear the thought of them healing, bear the thought of letting them go.

Jayne Cobb, however, refuses to acknowledge the small shape that is following him through the mass of seething humanity.

"You know I'm back here; I request that you stop ignoring me, man-ape."

He makes a noise like a bear's growl and before she can stop, he does; in the next heartbeat, she slams forward into his back, and the feeling is not unlike running full-force into a brick wall, leaving her stunned and wide-eyed, hands flying to her face as she staggers back a step, blinking furiously.

To her relief, though, he doesn't leave her behind in her dazed state, spinning and staring down at her hard, scowling. "Go on back to the ship," he snaps and shoves her, but she digs in her heels, jutting out her chin and squaring her shoulders. "I want to see the munitions," she states, and he growls again, shaking his head. "Guns ain't for little girls," he mutters, but he doesn't mean it.

He sees her for what she is, a dancer covered in blood, and she is grateful for it.

It is hard, to pretend to be helpless in the face of 'verse; sometimes it hurts, trying to fit into skin that was ripped from her form, skin that she would have shed anyway, for a better form and though she hates the way it was ripped away, she can grieve for it only so much. She has Simon, and now she has… another one, even if she is unsure how she has this other one.

"You ain't going to go running around the ship with a gun!"

"I do not need a gun to protect my home and family, I need only a spoon!"

Sudden silence, and she bites her lip at the way he's staring at her now, hard enough to make her blink repeatedly, trying to break the contact. Finally— "Are you tellin' me you can kill somebody with a spoon, Crazy?" When she can only stare, he cocks one eyebrow and she finally shrugs, chirping, "It is easy enough to understand how the curved end can be used in a life or death struggle, man-ape—"

"Stop calling me that."

"What do you want me to call you?"

"Don't give a damn, just not that, dong ma?"

"Understood, big, bad mercenary—"

"You're trying to set me off, ain't you?"

"It is easy and fun, and the faces you make are entertaining."

He makes the growling noise again, grabbing her by the arm and setting off again and she has to move quickly to keep up with his ground-eating strides, giving him a slant-eyed look as they moved fast through the crowds. "We are not going to study munitions are we, big, bad mercenary?"

"Nope." 

-

Jayne has a surprise for her.

She figures it out after they reach the Post area, and he shoves her off into another direction, muttering for her to keep herself busy while he takes care of a few things. Very few of the surprises she's had in the last years have been good but she finds herself giddy anyway, and she finally settles for wandering within his eyesight, knowing that he'll go off on a tangent if she goes missing and gets him in trouble with Mal.

"Did something die on your head, honey?" Stilling, turning, River stares warily at the big-breasted female some feet away but already wandering over, eyes glued to River's head. As the small brunette stands silently, Big Breasts begins to poke at the pompom on top, laughing in horror. "Oh, honey, where'd ya get this?!"

"A friend," River snaps coldly, deciding that smothering the woman in her breasts would be an easy and uncomplicated means of termination if she does not stop mocking the hat. Anyone on the ship, hearing the chilly tone, would have begun slowly backing away but the woman does not, still poking at it with one bright red nail, laughing hysterically.

"Do not mock my hat, please."

"But it's the stupidest thing I've ever seen!"

This was unacceptable.

With a narrow-eyed look, River snaps her hand up faster than most people could see, small fist connecting daintily with Big Breast's nose, the sudden crack filling the air as a sharp shriek splits the air, sending abrupt silence through the throngs of people, bodies coming to an unexpected and horrified still, eyes falling on the shrieking female and the small but pleased looking young woman in the dark dress.

Before River can enjoy her victory, though, a massive hand grabs her by the shoulder. "You know how they get at that time of the month, huh?" It's condescending, and River snaps her mouth open to tell him what she thinks of his comments on her menstrual cycle but he clamps his other hand across her mouth and begins dragging her away quickly from the still-shrieking female, the package tucked tightly under one arm.

"What the hell were you thinkin', Crazy?"

Again, this is unacceptable.

Twisting out of his grip, she settles a glare on him, arms crossed in front of her chest and lips twisted in fury. "Do not treat me as though I am hormonally incompetent, man-ape, I do not appreciate such crude comments about my menstrual cycles." He gives her a disgusted look, and she tosses hair over one shoulder, glaring harder. "Now give me my gift."

"No—"

"Give it!" and she lunges for it, only to smack against one large palm, other hand now holding the box high above his head. Rubbing her forehead, wanting to go back and finish the job of making the woman pay for her mockery, River tries again, only to have him shove her back several steps. "You are not an ice planet, do not act like one!"

"You can't go around acting like that, you want the Feds on you again, Girl?"

"The Feds are still after me," she hisses, glancing over his shoulder at where the woman is still shrieking, muffled by the distance but still clear in the crowds. "The actions of my anger will not hinder or help their efforts to find Simon and I." She shifts back to him, staring up at the package, and pondering ways to get it. "You shoot men in fights over whores, do not pretend to be innocent, big, bad mercenary!"

"That's different, I ain't the crazy girl with the missing brain pieces and Reaver blood on my hands, remember?!"

She's shaking, and hates it, and turns away, slapping her hands to the hat on her head, stroking it with faintly trembling fingers, shivering at the way it sparks beneath her nails. He is worried about her, and she finally exhales quietly, looking at him over her shoulder with carefully steady eyes. "The big-breasted one insulted your mother's knitting, Jayne Cobb."

That gets the proper reaction, as he shoots a sharp look in the direction of the insulting woman, cocking one eyebrow intently. "She insulted my Ma, did she?" She nods unhappily, and he offers her that wicked grin again, looking at her with something like pride, relaxing her enough to turn completely towards of him. "Good girl, can't let anyone get away with that."

In the next second, he shoves the box into her arms, snatching the hat from her head with one. The sudden loss is harsh since she's not yet braced for it, tightening her fingers around the box. "Don't ruin it, Crazy, you won't be getting another one, trust me." When she just stares at him, blankly, he snorts and jerks his chin at the box, giving her a look. "Go ahead, Crazy, it's yours, matches and everything."

Ripping it open, heart leaping into her throat as her fingers close around the knitted material, she lets herself gaze at the hat with shameless joy, taking in the two shades of blue and the white. She turns it one way and then another before looking back at him, massive smile on her face. "It has a pompom, and earflaps!"

"Yeah, I know," he mutters, stashing the letter back into the envelope and slipping it into the inside of his jacket as she beams back, smoothing her hair and pulling the hat on, nodding at herself in the feel of it, a perfect fit somehow, warm and right and it was made for her.

For her, and no one else.

"It's all mine?"

"Does it look it'd fit me?"

"No."

"There's your answer, then."

She bites her lip to keep from giggling as she tugs the earflaps experimentally, perking up even more. "They cover my ears, and do not reach to my neck like the ones on your hat does!" Fiddling with the pompom, she grins, not able to remember the last time she felt so much joy. She knows she has, in her life, but she's unable to remember. "You gave her the perfect measurements."

"Didn't give her no measurements," he chuckles smugly as he preens on behalf of his mother. "She's got this sixth sense, I'm telling you, she just… knows these things, you know?" Reaching out, he tugs it slightly to the left, adjusting the way it sits on her head, nodding to himself as he flicks the pompom with one finger, nodding. "I just told her you was little, and let her handle it from there."

"Do I look cunning, big, bad mercenary?"

"Damn right you do, crazy-girl." 

- 

When Malcolm Reynolds first spots Jayne heading back to the ship, he feels a surge of relief that the damn orange hat is back on his head, no longer adorning River's. It's just wrong, Jayne acting all sympathetic to the girl, and besides, it hangs down around her head like some kind of joke, as if some carrot-colored monkey was trying to swallow her head whole or something.

And then he spots River, and nearly drops dead on the spot.

"Oh, that's just the cutest little thing I've ever seen!"

Mal twists, giving Kaylee a look of such outright horror that she has the good sense to smile innocently and take a quick step to hide behind Wash, who's making a suspicious noise in his throat, hand covering his mouth. "You better not find this funny," Mal warns, but it's a losing battle, since Zoë's already tearing up slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching.

He has to admit, though, that Albatross looks happy, even if she is wearing something that looks like that on her head—

"You care to explain this to me?" he asks heatedly, as soon as Jayne comes up the ramp and gets a pleased look in response, the big man chuckling something about defending your mother's honor as he pats River on the head like she's a pet dog or something and, damn it, why the hell does she have to look so damn happy? It's making it hard for Mal to focus on his rant and how to get the damn thing off her head because it's wrong, her and Jayne being on hat sharing terms, and her putting a foot on his forehead because, really, what if she wasn't wearing anything under that damn dress and Jayne took advantage of the girl—

"I can kill you with a spoon," she states, staring him straight in the eye, and Jayne falls silent, glancing at her with a cocked eyebrow. "I thought your weapon of choice was your brain, girl." She flashes him a small but brilliant smile, eyes never leaving Mal's, never dropping the warning as he stands speechless, jaw hanging open slightly at the strange but still frightening threat. "I will not allow my hat to be touched."

"Says the crazy who snuck into my bunk to steal mine?"

"Wait— What the hell was she doing in your gorramn bunk—"

"That was different, I needed the love—"

Wash began to make an odd choking noise but it was ignored, Mal's growingly fearful threats to stay away from each other under fear of the airlock falling on deaf ears as mercenary took off in the direction of his bunk, River hot on his heels, snapping back and forth about how Mal stealing her hat was completely different than her stealing of his hat.

They would need to be separated, and soon, clearly.

Wrong, very wrong, needed to be seperated because this was _wrong_.  



End file.
